


Some Means Other Than Sensory Perception

by blehgah



Series: Unexplainable by Natural Law or Phenomena [1]
Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: M/M, Supernatural Elements, auditory imagery, everyone has minor powers au, mindreader AU, the whole cast will probably show up but im not sure if they'll have speaking parts, they're still idols here tho, with exceptions of course
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-22
Updated: 2016-08-15
Packaged: 2018-07-25 23:56:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7552147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blehgah/pseuds/blehgah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where most people have some ability to manipulate their environment, Jisoo happens to have the ability to read minds. Unfortunately, he doesn't perceive others' thoughts as words: he often has no choice but to compare them to sounds or other sensations. But that doesn't mean he can't try.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Jeonghan’s hungry. Jisoo can tell by the uncomfortable, impatient bouncing coming from him. It’s like a faucet dripping in a quiet room, but the quiet room is Jisoo’s mind—so he’s the only one who can hear it. He can’t just ask Jeonghan to turn it off: it’s not like the man is aware he’s producing the sound in the first place.

Sometimes Jisoo thinks he should be used to this—used to hearing other people’s thoughts. But the dripping continues whether he likes it or not, echoing in the confines of his skull, a dull, rhythmic, simple sound.

“It’s kind of late, isn’t it?” Jisoo asks instead. Jeonghan looks up instantly and Jisoo tilts his head in his friend’s direction. “Maybe time for a snack?”

The bouncing loses its echo, dropping some of its volume. Lightweight now, there’s hope there—hope that Jeonghan will get his hands on some food soon.

However, some hesitation keeps the bouncing suspended, slowing Jeonghan’s reaction.

“If we go for food now, the kids’ll be upset we didn’t wait,” Jeonghan explains. “Then they’ll ask me to buy them all food next time.” He drops a hand onto his stomach as his mouth stretches in a small smile. “I can wait.”

The bouncing stops, melting into a calm, slow wave of motion through Jisoo’s head, like a gentle tide lapping against a cliffside. The affection Jeonghan feels for his members soothes them both, and Jisoo nods with a smile, understanding.

 

* * *

 

“Ok, break!”

Everyone gives Soonyoung a nod that’s perfectly in sync. The members’ harsh breathing mixes together, buffeting the cacophony of everyone’s combined thoughts aside and creating something new, something bigger, something approaching a symphony. Months ago, this would have given Jisoo headaches, but now—well, save for the occasional lapse in the system—it serves as calming white noise.

Beside him, Jeonghan chugs water from his bottle. Jisoo has told him countless times that high water intake right after physical exertion will upset his stomach, but Jeonghan still refuses to listen. As Jisoo turns to give him a friendly reminder, Jeonghan lifts an eyebrow and shoves a water bottle in Jisoo’s direction.

His words die on his lips as he accepts the water and pops the cap open.

Heartbeats slow and breathing slows over time. Jeonghan is a steady drumbeat in Jisoo’s head, and while the rhythm is slow, the sound is high, like a snare rather than a bass. His eyes flicker over to Jisoo’s, a question, before they point to the door, the punctuation.

Before Jisoo can reply, a clap of water against stone interrupts his thoughts. Behind them, Seungcheol comes close enough to throw his arms around both sets of their shoulders.

“Dinner later?” Seungcheol asks, all wide smiles and sweat dripping down his neck. The curve of his eyes is soft yet vibrant, a mallet wrapped in a pink ball of fluff hitting a taut surface. “To get away from the kids. I heard some of them wanted to go out to karaoke, but I wasn’t sure about joining.”

Considering both Jisoo and Jeonghan are part of vocal team, one might think that they sing nonstop. In truth, it’s mostly Seungkwan who can’t keep his mouth shut to save his own life, though Seokmin isn’t too far behind him.

A glance over at Seungkwan and Hansol is enough to tell Jisoo that it’s them who want to go out, on Seungkwan’s insistence. Chan is being dragged along, too, seeing as he’s just a year younger than them and therefore should join them in their festivities.

Jisoo receives a glance from Jeonghan. His lungs have finally claimed a steady pace, and his contemplation sounds like water washing over pebbles on the shore.

“I need to check how much money I’ve got on me,” Jeonghan replies. His hesitation is water falling away from the shoreline, a low tide. “I’m not sure I feel like walking to the bank if I don’t have cash.”

“Lazy,” Seungcheol chastises him. He cuffs Jeonghan gently on the chest before pulling away and looking over at Jisoo. “And you?”

Jisoo shrugs. “Yeah man,” he says in English, earning a grin from their leader. “I’m down. What did you feel like?”

At the prompt, Jeonghan thinks of barbecue, and the sound of raw meat sizzling on a hot surface bounces through Jisoo’s head for a brief moment. Seungcheol thinks of noodles and Jisoo hears the muted sound of broth sloshing around in a bowl.

“Maybe ramyeon?” Seungcheol suggests.

Jeonghan lifts an eyebrow. “We don’t need to go out to get that.”

“You’re going to cook for me then, Jeonghannie?”

“I’ll boil the water, sure.”

“What about hotpot?” Jisoo offers.

Both Seungcheol and Jeonghan hum in agreement. Just the idea brings the suggestion of satisfaction to Seungcheol’s head, a deep and full vibration. On the other hand, Jeongcheol’s hunger is hollow, echoing through Jisoo’s mind like a rock skipping over water.

“I heard hotpot,” Soonyoung pipes up, Jihoon trailing behind him.

“You sure your power isn’t super-hearing?” Seungcheol asks the dance leader with a slight smile.

Soonyoung shrugs. “Maybe when it’s about food. I’m starving.”

“Me too,” Jihoon adds. He holds an elbow in his opposite hand, his free hand hanging limply a few centimetres in front of his body. Seungcheol wiggles his fingers at him in greeting.

“How’s seven sound?” Seungcheol asks.

There’s a murmur of agreement before the little group disbands. Jisoo occupies his mouth with his water bottle as he follows Jeonghan out of the practice room and towards the building’s exit.

 

* * *

 

Having some sort of supernatural ability nowadays is far from uncommon. In fact, it’s more likely that someone  _ has _ a little trick up their sleeves than being void of one. They’ve chalked it up to  _ auras _ : they’re a person’s unseen (with exceptions) force of will.

Before they debuted, when Seungcheol introduced himself as the oldest—and therefore, unofficially, their leader from then on—he happened to mention that he had heightened senses. The announcement had been met with vague mumbles of acknowledgement before they moved onto Jisoo.

The difference between himself and Seungcheol is that then, Jisoo had no idea how to label his power, so he’d just said he was ‘working on it’. Soonyoung had said the same thing when he’d been asked, but even today, he’s still working on it. Jisoo, on the other hand…

Mind-reading isn’t a very common power, but only because not everyone reads minds in a comparable fashion. It can’t really be called ‘mind-reading’—at least, not officially—if there’s no standard for it. Some people think it’s a more precise version of empathy; the mood reading is similar. But mind-readers are unable to manipulate energy like empaths. They can, at least, manipulate the way they interpret others’ thoughts. Trying to explain things only gets hairier from there.

For the most part, Jisoo understands other people’s thoughts as sounds. He’s not sure if his interest in music is a result of that, or if he hears people as sounds because of his interest in music. Either way, it doesn’t matter, not really.

The important part, in his opinion, is trying to interpret people’s thoughts as words. Hearing words unsaid would give him an invaluable advantage. In all twenty years of his life he hasn’t ever thought of it as intruding—he considers it a goal to be attained.

And maybe that’s the problem.

 

* * *

 

“Hey, pass me the mushrooms, will you?” Seungcheol asks Jihoon.

Jihoon sighs and drums his fingertips against the tabletop. “They’re closer to you, you know. Are you asking me just to see if I can hold the bowl?”

There’s a glint to Seungcheol’s eye as he grins, shameless. “I  _ know _ you can, which is why I’m asking.”

Jisoo glances at Jihoon, shameless about his own curiosity. Jihoon’s irritation is a steady  _ thump  thump _ and Jisoo imagines a rubber ball bouncing against a hardwood floor. It seems fitting—Jisoo knows there’s no ill intent behind Jihoon’s glare, but there’s heat there nonetheless.

Some of the heat dissipates as Jihoon pushes the bowl of mushrooms into Seungcheol’s chest with a sigh. He flicks his wrists and his phantom hands do all the work, the movement invisible to the human eye.

Well, Jisoo has a feeling that Seungcheol can see it, considering the request in the first place.

To his right, Jeonghan is too busy shoving noodles and meat into his mouth to pay attention to the mushroom exchange. His contentment is warm, much like the broth flowing down his throat.

“Y’know, when I remember you can actually  _ see _ people’s auras, I get kinda creeped out,” Soonyoung comments, pointing at Seungcheol with his chopsticks.

“How can you forget this guy has super-vision?” Jihoon sneers. “I don’t feel safe around him—ever.”

“You guys are making it sound like I can see through your clothes or something,” Seungcheol replies. The grin that lingers on his lips isn’t helping his case.

“ _ Can _ you?” Soonyoung asks.

Seungcheol shakes his head. “But I’m not saying that an aura leaves much to the imagination.”

Jihoon sighs. He seems to have accepted his fate for the night. “You’re sick,” he mutters without looking up. Instead, he reaches over to pile more food from the bubbling hot pot into his bowl.

Seungcheol just grins. There’s a special sort of pleasure he gets from annoying Jihoon, a giddy  _ tap tap tap _ against a thin surface. Glass, maybe. It certainly chimes like glass. It’s light and happy, and Jisoo finds himself smiling, too.

Maybe he really is an empath after all.

“And what are you so happy about?” Jeonghan asks, lifting a brow.

Jisoo shrugs. “It’s nice to be out with friends.”

“As long as you can pay to go out,” Jeonghan replies. His elbow brushes Jisoo’s forearm and the touch feels electric, like a static charge. Jisoo pulls his arm back and rubs it, looking at Jeonghan sharply.

He finds Jeonghan looking back at him. His eyes are wide, his own fingers wrapped around the offending limb.

“Um, ouch?” Jisoo says, accusatory. There’s a smile on the tip of his tongue.

Jeonghan rolls his eyes. “ _ Sorry _ . Guess I must have rubbed my sleeve too much against my coat, or something.”

“You’re not sorry,” Jisoo responds. He’s smiling now.

“Yeah? What are you gonna do about it?”

Jisoo leans over and nudges Jeonghan gently in the ribs. There’s another small spark, but it’s too weak to be noticed while Jeonghan whines about spilling his food.

Jeonghan isn’t really annoyed. His confusion regarding the origin of the static has been drowned out by the sensitivity in his side, mirth bubbling in his head, foam spilling over the lip of his mind.

“Careful, watch out for the pot,” Jihoon warns. He reaches over to shield the hot pot with his phantom hands. “Idiot hyungs,” he mutters.

 

* * *

 

It’s sometime in the dead of the night when Jisoo wakes up to a storm of noise in his head. Once he manages to pry his eyes open, he throws glances around his room to make sure that the sound is, in fact, only in his head, and that the dorm isn’t falling down around him.

He rubs his eyes. With his free hand, he gropes his bedside table for his phone. Despite steeling his body for the upcoming flash of light, the screen of his phone still blinds him as he aims it at his face.

4:13 a.m. Too damn early for anyone’s thoughts to be voluminous and intrusive enough to wake him up.

Concern brings him to his feet and curiosity brings him down the hall and into their shared kitchen. The closer he comes to his destination, the clearer the person’s thoughts become. Fatigue and frustration ring strongly in his head, bouncing around the walls of his skull, the noise so substantial that Jisoo can feel the weight of it in his nerves. His head droops as he pokes it into the doorway of the kitchen.

Jeonghan sits on the counter by the sink. The heels of his socked feet are braced against the cupboards below him and the heels of his palms keep his weight balanced upright. His head hangs between his shoulder-blades, a perfect mirror to the heaviness Jisoo feels above his neck.

There’s an empty glass by Jeonghan’s hand. Jisoo only needs a glance to know that it isn’t thirst that’s keeping Jeonghan up. The exact reason escapes him, however, lost in the constant noise of exhaustion and frustration Jeonghan screams into his brain.

Jeonghan looks up. When their eyes meet, some of the clamouring in Jeonghan’s head calms down, as if the impact of the steady banging in his head has been softened by padding, softened by Jisoo’s presence.

“What are you doing here?” Jeonghan asks. Speech—Jeonghan’s thoughts put to words—continues to soften the vibration in Jisoo’s head.

Jisoo hesitates. It’s not like he can tell Jeonghan that it was him who woke him up. “I can’t sleep,” Jisoo replies. Not anymore, at least.

For a moment, Jeonghan’s brow furrows. Doubt clouds Jeonghan’s thoughts, fluffy white padding that slows down his erratic rhythm.

“Did I… wake you up?” Jeonghan’s confusion organizes the cacophony of his thoughts. Exhaustion wraps around the main body of sound, but seeing someone, speaking words out loud, helps arrange it all into chunks that are easier for Jisoo to ingest and sort out.

Irritation. Fatigue. Concern. Confusion. Fatigue. Fatigue. Resignation.

Jisoo rubs his elbow and looks at the glass again.

“I was trying really hard to be quiet, honestly,” Jeonghan adds when Jisoo fails to reply. He sighs. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Jisoo replies, coming up to Jeonghan’s side. He holds his arms out, an invitation. Jeonghan slithers down from his seat, stepping into Jisoo’s warm embrace, an acceptance.

“Now that I think about it,” Jisoo adds with tired contemplation, “I’m surprised Seokmin didn’t wake up either.”

Jeonghan just hums as he sinks into Jisoo’s touch. His head lies in the crook of Jisoo’s neck and he’s minutely burrowing forward as the seconds tick by.

Their physical connection soothes them both. Jisoo feels a wave of calm over his skin, smoothing over the hairs on the nape of his neck, along the length of his forearms, down his shins, like a refreshing breeze rolling over his body. While the effect on Jeonghan isn’t the same, Jisoo can hear Jeonghan’s thoughts slow down, can feel the frustration simmer down to a slight bubble.

Jisoo shifts his weight so that he leans his hip on the counter. In this position, Jisoo can feel Jeonghan rest his weight against him. It presses them close together, chest to chest and thigh to thigh.

Jisoo doesn’t mind in the slightest. The warmth makes him feel drowsy.

Jeonghan must be feeling the same way. His thoughts taper off into a quiet lullaby, something nostalgic. Jisoo tries to recall the song, but the lyrics mix both Korean and English to the point where he can’t begin to grasp the meaning. Understanding any of this is a battle that isn’t worth fighting.

The sweet lullaby feels like honey over his ears and milk on his tongue. Jisoo licks his lips, distracted, as his hands rest idly on Jeonghan’s hips.

“Sleepy now,” Jeonghan mutters into Jisoo’s neck, relief on his breath. “Thank you.”

He didn’t do anything but hug him, Jisoo thinks, but his body betrays him—all he can do is nod. There’s a brush of lips against Jisoo’s neck as Jeonghan closes his mouth again and something sharp and hot jumps in Jisoo’s stomach.

It’s late. They both need to get to bed.

Jisoo is reluctant to let his friend out of his grip, so he captures one of Jeonghan’s hands as he starts to pull away. Immediately, Jeonghan laces their fingers together.

Jeonghan takes his time rinsing out his glass and putting it away. Jisoo hovers behind him, rubbing his eyes occasionally to keep them open. The lullaby plays in his head in a loop, muffled by sleepiness; there is no trace of the frantic frustration Jeonghan was projecting earlier.

Once they return to the bedrooms, Jeonghan finally lets him go. It borders on painful: Jisoo can definitely feel a tug in his aura, something so ingrained into his body that the way it clings to Jeonghan feels like pulling on his skin. A grimace curls Jeonghan’s lips as he looks up at Jisoo, alarmed.

Jisoo can’t think of anything to say. Now that they’re apart, his mind feels clouded by static, numb, tired—he’s filled to his ears with white, white cotton. He feels it occupy his throat, drying out his tongue, his teeth stuck together like a trap.

Jeonghan hesitates. He licks his lips and Jisoo thinks of the glass of water he’d been handling earlier.

“Goodnight,” Jeonghan says finally, exchanging one brief glance with Jisoo before disappearing into his room.

For a second, Jisoo contemplates returning to the kitchen to quench his sudden thirst, but he ultimately decides against it. Sleep comes first.

 

* * *

 

“Do you know if Jisoo has a power, too?” Jeonghan asks.

Seungcheol cracks an eye open to look over at his companion. They’re currently recovering from their latest dance practice, though at this point they’re the only two left in the room. It’s fine; had anyone else been here, Seungcheol might have missed out on mooching some of Jeonghan’s energy.

It’s why Jeonghan’s so tired all the time. And Seungcheol doesn’t mean to take the energy—it just happens. Jeonghan follows people who feel weak and lends them some of his strength. It’s an instinctive thing, like most abilities are.

“Why do you want to know?” Seungcheol replies.

Jeonghan shrugs. “I couldn’t sleep the other day—god knows how long I was awake. And in the middle of it, he woke up, too. I would’ve chalked it up to coincidence if it weren’t for the fact that he mentioned Seokmin.”

“You know I can’t see empaths’ powers,” Seungcheol reminds him.

“I know, but he’s never said he was an empath.” Jeonghan plays with his hands. Seungcheol can see his aura stick between his fingers as he claps them together and pulls them apart. “I’m just wondering if he’s hiding something from us.”

“If he is, he’ll tell us when he’s ready,” Seungcheol reassures him.

Jeonghan’s nose wrinkles.

After a few seconds of silence, Seungcheol asks, “Is there something else?”

With a sigh, Jeonghan leans his head back against the mirror behind them. His reflection can’t capture his aura, which is currently leaking particles into Seungcheol’s, lending him energy. Seungcheol reaches up to catch a few in his palm and the movement attracts Jeonghan’s attention. He knows Jeonghan can’t see what he’s doing, but it’s interesting nonetheless: it shows that Jeonghan can sense the disturbance.

However, Seungcheol doesn’t serve as a distraction for long. Jeonghan sighs.

“I don’t know,” Jeonghan mutters. He’s stalling. “It’s been—weird lately, I guess. Touching him kind of hurts.”

Seungcheol sits up. “How?”

“I don’t know,” Jeonghan repeats. He shifts so that he’s hugging his knees. “It feels like static. So I don’t know if I’m imagining it or not.”

“I’m probably not the person to talk to about it, then,” Seungcheol responds, trying on a reassuring smile.

“If I wanted to talk to him about it, don’t you think I would’ve done that already?” Jeonghan’s face continues to wrinkle. His eyes flicker over to Seungcheol’s and his expression smooths out a little. “It’s—weird. I don’t want it to be weird between us, you know?”

Seungcheol has to suppress a sigh. His members can really be idiots sometimes.

“If you discuss it, then it won’t become a problem.”

Jeonghan chews his cheek.

“Right?” Seungcheol prompts.

With a groan, Jeonghan presses his face between his knees. “I  _ guess _ ,” he relents, ever the drama queen. “It’s just—ugh. Don’t wanna.”

“Don’t be a baby,” Seungcheol chides. He gives Jeonghan a shove in the shoulder. “What kind of hyung are you? Huh?”

Groaning again, Jeonghan rolls onto the floor, away from Seungcheol’s reach. “I  _ am _ a baby. I’m a big baby. Go away.”

“‘Big baby’ is right.” Seungcheol gets to his feet and prods Jeonghan’s side with his toe. “Fine. But only because you asked.”

Jeonghan looks up at him with big puppy eyes. Seungcheol resists the urge to kick him.

“And I guess I’ll keep a closer eye on him for now,” Seungcheol adds with a sigh.

A smile creases his eyes as Jeonghan says, “Thank you.”

The things he does for his kids. Twelve is too many, honestly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> every member has a power (unless explicitly stated otherwise) that I may or may not explore in future parts of this series.


	2. Chapter 2

Jisoo wakes up and Jeonghan is there.

The past few hours are a blur to him. He’s been in and out of sleep, fighting off a stomach bug with the help of a fever and plenty of water. It all started when he began throwing up that morning, and he’s been bedridden ever since.

The entire room feels like it’s filled with billowy clouds, soft marshmallows, fluffy cotton, and with just one look, Jisoo knows it’s because Jeonghan is there. Sweet nectar trickles from Jeonghan’s presence and pools in the hollow of Jisoo’s stomach. For a brief moment, Jisoo feels like he’s floating.

The downside to his illness is that his ability to hear thoughts has been dampened. A wet cloth lies both literally and figuratively on his forehead, cooling down his skin and deafening his mental ears.

As Jeonghan leans against his bedside to clasp one of Jisoo’s hands, a  _ pop _ resounds in his mind like pressure against his eardrum bowing out.

“Don’t,” Jisoo croaks, his throat raw from his earlier nausea and general disuse, “or you’ll get sick, too.”

Jeonghan scoffs. “I don’t think this is contagious, Jisoo-ya.”

“How would you know?”

“I just do.” Jeonghan’s eyes fall. “Besides, this feels better, doesn’t it?”

Jisoo flexes his fingers in Jeonghan’s grip. In return, Jeonghan rests his other hand on top, preventing further movement.

“Yeah,” Jisoo murmurs in agreement. “It does. Somehow.”

A smile, small as it may be, curves Jeonghan’s lips. Jeonghan doesn’t like seeing Jisoo sick like this—his expression says enough, but his mind keens distantly, a melancholy violin. While Jisoo knows Jeonghan has a soft spot for all his members, there’s something distinct about the pattern of his thoughts. It stirs something in Jisoo’s chest, hot but brief.

Eventually, Jeonghan lifts one of his hands to draw lines in Jisoo’s palm. Jeonghan’s thoughts are scattered, but they’re slowly converging as his fingertip crosses over Jisoo’s skin again and again. The calm cools Jisoo’s head to contented embers.

Jisoo shifts his body amongst his nest of pillows and blankets. He speaks without looking over at his companion: “How are the others?”

“Worried,” Jeonghan replies without a second thought. “Seungcheol couldn’t see anything too extreme, so he doesn’t think we need to call a doctor. He prescribes rest and lots of water. Some rice when you’re feeling up to it.”

“Since when was Seungcheollie qualified to make calls like that, huh?”

“He’s got a pretty reliable head on those shoulders. Most of the time.” A bell chimes Jeonghan’s amusement in Jisoo’s head. “Do you really want to see a doctor? In the end, it’s your call.”

Jisoo shakes his head. “No. I’m already feeling better, but I know there’s no point in pushing myself to do anything else right now.” He pauses. “In fact, I was starting to get kind of bored.”

Jeonghan snorts. “Liar. You were fast asleep when I came in here.”

Smiling to himself, Jisoo decides he’ll let Jeonghan have that one. “Fine. What are you doing here, anyway?”

“Helping,” Jeonghan says simply.

Jisoo lifts an eyebrow. “How?”

Jeonghan shrugs. He squeezes Jisoo’s hand.

“I’m thinking my good looks ought to charm that bug right out of you,” Jeonghan decides. How he manages to say that with a straight face, Jisoo has no clue.

“So you really do want to get sick,” Jisoo concludes. “You want extra rest time? Is that it? Lazy Jeonghannie.”

Jeonghan’s nose wrinkles as he curls up Jisoo’s fingers into his palm, pressing them hard enough to crack a few of his knuckles.

“Ah,” Jisoo hisses. It trails off into a sigh. “Having fun messing with the invalid?” he continues.

All Jeonghan does in response is hum, and then he’s slipping his fingers between Jisoo’s again, a silent apology.

It’s been a while since their last interaction produced that strained sensation. Ever since that late-night session, most of their touches have been honey-sweet—sticky like it, too. It’s almost as if that painful separation hadn’t happened at all.

At first, they’d been wary of touching again, afraid it’d hurt. But staying away from each other had proven difficult: whether it was living in close quarters, practicing together, or their simple desire to be together that won out in the end, neither of them could tell why their resolve couldn’t last.

It isn’t worth worrying about at this point. That’s Jisoo’s opinion, at least. He hasn’t heard an dissenting thought from Jeonghan, aloud or internally, so he assumes—hopes—they’re on the same page on that front.

Most of Jisoo’s earlier nausea is gone, and since Jeonghan arrived, he feels like most of the soreness in his throat has dissipated, too. With his free hand, he massages the length of his throat. Jeonghan watches his fingers with idle interest.

Jisoo lowers his hand. “Say, Jeonghan-ah,” he starts, catching Jeonghan’s attention with ease, “you don’t have a power too, do you?”

Something heavy shifts in Jeonghan’s head. “I’m not sure,” he says carefully, “why do you ask?”

Jisoo looks down at their intertwined hands. “I’m just wondering. Sometimes…”

It’s hard to put words to the feeling. Most of the time, Jisoo can barely find words to describe the things he perceives from others—the feeling they communicate barely compares to anything he’s ever experienced before. There are always bits and pieces he can connect, some similarities he can name and cling to, but nothing as comprehensible as words.

Not yet, anyway. And right now, he lacks the energy to try to dissect that earlier movement in Jeonghan’s thoughts, though he’s dying of curiosity.

“Sometimes, you just… You just feel different.” Jisoo flexes his fingers again. It feels as if Jeonghan’s hand was carved, moulded, to fit his perfectly. “Do you know what I mean?”

“I think so,” Jeonghan replies. His voice is barely above a whisper.

Silence hangs in the air for a breath or two. Here is where Jisoo fails, time and time again. Here is where Jisoo cannot fill in the gaps, where he cannot find the words to explain his thoughts, where he is unable to bridge the rift of understanding. Words fail him when all he wants is to know whether Jeonghan feels the same—but how can Jeonghan begin to imagine what he feels when he can’t describe what it is himself?

Jisoo reaches out with his mind, sluggish with fatigue despite Jeonghan’s refreshing presence, and grasps at Jeonghan with a ghostly touch. He falls short, so short. There’s nothing but fog, suggestions of thought, incomprehensible whispers.

When their eyes meet, Jisoo feels his mouth fill with cotton once more, viscous molasses tying his teeth together. As that soft feeling returns, Jisoo’s grip on reality starts to slip and clouds begin to gather under his arms and legs. His eyelids are heavy, and Jeonghan’s image at his side begins to waver.

“I also think you should sleep,” Jeonghan adds, quiet enough that Jisoo isn’t sure if Jeonghan really spoke or not.

He wouldn’t be good company if he slept, Jisoo thinks, but nothing intelligible comes out. He’s not even sure if his mouth moves. There’s too much cotton, so much cotton, and his tongue feels fat and swollen.

Jeonghan strokes Jisoo’s palm. For a brief moment, Jisoo curls his fingers over Jeonghan’s knuckles and Jeonghan smiles.

The last thing Jisoo remembers is Jeonghan’s smile.

 

* * *

 

“So how’s he—“ Seungcheol stops and his lips curl in a grimace. “You look like shit.”

“Thanks,” Jeonghan replies, flipping his hair over his shoulder.

Jeonghan’s aura looks thin, to say the least. This is probably the thinnest Seungcheol has ever seen it.

“What did you do, cure cancer?” Seungcheol fusses. He steps into Jeonghan’s personal space and checks his pulse, his breathing, his heart rate, anything he can evaluate to make sure he’s okay.

Usually, Jeonghan would recoil away from Seungcheol’s paternal instincts, but he seems to lack the energy this time around.

“You know I can’t control it.” Jeonghan swallows. “And he—I don’t know. He’s sick, so he needs it, I guess, but I… I can never really know for sure, with him.”

Seungcheol lifts an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

Jeonghan shrugs with his whole body. They’ve stopped just outside the room Jisoo occupies, but Jeonghan moves them to the closest bedroom and goes for the nearest bed.

Once settled, he drapes an arm over his eyes. “He’s… It’s weird.”

“You know, I think you might have said this before. I’m having deja vu.”

Jeonghan kicks blindly in Seungcheol’s direction. His foot connects with Seungcheol’s elbow since the latter is feeling gracious towards his worn out friend.

“Shut up. I don’t know how else to say it.” With a sigh, Jeonghan continues, “You know, I’ve had this power all my life, and I’ve never met anyone who messes with it as much as he does. Usually it’s a one way deal: I give until I don’t need to anymore, and that’s it. But with Jisoo-ya… Sometimes, he—sometimes he actually gives  _ me _ some of his energy, too.”

“That’s interesting. And he doesn’t notice?”

Jeonghan shakes his head. “Not at all. He doesn’t even know about my power. In fact, he just asked about it.”

“And you didn’t say anything about it, did you?”

Jeonghan shakes his head.

Seungcheol sighs. “I don’t see why you’re so secretive about it in the first place.”

Jeonghan’s answering shrug seems awkward since he’s lying down. “There’s nothing glamorous about my power. Not like yours or Channie’s.”

“My power isn’t ‘glamorous’.”

“Fine, but it’s way more useful than mine.”

“You only think that because you’re too nosy.”

Groaning, Jeonghan throws both his hands up. “It sucks to be tired all the time!”

Seungcheol reaches for one of Jeonghan’s hands. As soon as they touch, Seungcheol can see Jeonghan’s aura bleed into his, mixing light and colour. There’s no transfer, not like when Jeonghan shares, but the presence is familiar, soothing like mint in his throat.

“Get some sleep,” Seungcheol says, and he knows it sounds like an order more than a suggestion.

Jeonghan’s eyes crease as he pouts at Seungcheol.

“You don’t need to tell me twice.”

With a quiet huff, Jeonghan turns onto his side, pulling the covers over his body in one swift motion. Seungcheol reaches over to tuck him in, which earns him a long-suffering groan.

Worth it, though.

 

* * *

 

Seungkwan and Seokmin corner Seungcheol once he steps into the kitchen. They shove a glass of water into their leader’s hands before ushering him into the closest seat.

“How are they?” Seungkwan asks.

“Should I go in there? Have a talk with Jisoo-hyung?” Seokmin adds.

Quirking a brow, Seungcheol downs a few gulps of the water. Once he lowers his hand, he shakes his head.

“I think they should both sleep,” Seungcheol explains.

His dongsaengs’ concern is heavy in their strong voices, and while it’s not ill-placed, there’s not much left for them to do. None of them can help Jisoo and Jeonghan aside from letting them rest.

As usual, Seokmin’s aura bubbles with his infectious emotion. Everything about Seokmin comes in extremes, though he’s been doing better at containing it. While Seungcheol can’t see what exactly it is that Seokmin does to affect everyone’s moods, he figures it has to do something with the way that he’s always bright with energy. Something about him is malleable, easily adaptable, slipping through other bodies like sand through a sieve.

“But, like—” Seungkwan bites the inside of his cheek for a second, considering. “Why did Jeonghan go? I could try to sing him something, maybe. You know that usually helps sick people, and I could always use the practice.”

Seungkwan’s ability is similar to Jeonghan’s, in a sense. There’s something special about his singing—it helps him transfer some of his aura to others within range. He can’t focus the effect, so it’s not very useful for major injuries or the sort, but it works as a good pick me up.

Seokmin’s brow furrows as he gives Seungkwan a sideways glance. The expression doesn’t last long: his face is carefully blank as he looks back at Seungcheol. “Actually, I’ve been wondering the same thing—”

Something shifts in Seungcheol’s stomach. Seokmin’s trying to keep him calm, and Seungcheol can only assume he’s doing the same for Seungkwan, as a preface to—something.

Seungcheol doesn’t like the looks of things.

Talking about other members behind their backs is just one step down a slippery slope. Seokmin means well, but Seungcheol can’t find the energy to stop Seokmin while he’s ahead, not when Seokmin uses his power like this.

“I’ve noticed… that Jisoo-hyung and Jeonghan-hyung have been acting a little weird around each other,” Seokmin continues.

Seungkwan tilts his head, curious. “What do you mean?”

“Something about them just feels weird.” Seokmin plays with his fingers and Seungcheol can feel some of the pressure dissipate from his stomach. “It feels like—static. Lots of static.”

“What’s  _ that _ supposed to mean?” Seungkwan whines. He pushes at Seokmin’s shoulder. “Is that it? Static? Jisoo-hyung threw up, like, five times today, and all you can say about it is static?”

Seungcheol eyes Seokmin for a bit. There’s no resistance from his dongsaeng, and while Seungcheol will take that as a small victory, he knows Seokmin has questions on the tip of his tongue—questions meant for Seungcheol.

“Listen,” Seungcheol starts, his voice cutting through the haze of their concern like sharp steel, “I’ve already said that I don’t think it’s anything serious. Jeonghan just wanted to make sure his friend’s alright, you know?”

Seokmin meets his eyes. His aura presses against Seungcheol’s, curious, frustrated, but not demanding.

“Whatever it is you felt was probably just leading up to him being sick,” Seungcheol continues. “Maybe Jeonghan picked something up without actually having symptoms and passed it onto him. Who knows? What matters now is that they get some rest.”

“I’m just worried,” Seokmin sighs.

“So am I,” Seungcheol replies, “but there’s no use sitting around moping or coming up with theories about whatever happened. I’m pretty sure it was just a stomach bug or something.”

Seungcheol finishes up his water before extending both his hands to his dongsaengs.

“Come on,” he says, “let’s round up everyone else and go over the choreo again.”

There’s no hesitation from either Seungkwan or Seokmin as they reach out to clasp his hands.


	3. Chapter 3

Waking up with twelve other boys is always an ordeal. While Jisoo is never the first one awake, he’s never the last, either. Groggy thoughts trickle into Jisoo’s head as morning breaks and spills over the dorm. Bits and pieces of sound bounce aimlessly between his ears as he gets up to join his members in the kitchen for breakfast.

There are eggs and rice and ham, some of it rolled together, some of it not. Not even Mingyu could have gotten up early enough to cook all of this, so it must have been the staff. The group will have to thank them later.

Jisoo heads to the coffee machine first. He bumps elbows with Junhui, who thinks warm thoughts in his direction in Mandarin, and spoons some sugar and cream into his cup. He stirs the contents as he takes a place at the table.

The incoherent yet consistent buzz of his members’ thoughts provides structure to the morning’s otherwise unorganized noise. Chopsticks against ceramic, several sets of conversation, and teeth gnashing together come together in a strange symphony that Jisoo is all too familiar with by now.

Jeonghan reaches over. He slips Jisoo’s coffee mug out of his loose grip and takes a sip. Jisoo doesn’t bat an eye as he turns and takes a chunk of Jeonghan’s eggs.

Mingyu leans across Wonwoo, seated on Jisoo’s left, to distribute some radish and bean sprouts onto Jeonghan’s plate. Both Jisoo and Jeonghan dip their heads to look at it, offended, before they raise their eyes in a dead stare in Mingyu’s direction. Mingyu just grins, sharp and toothy and filled with so many good intentions.

Content to be occupied with the coffee, Jeonghan pushes the vegetables in Jisoo’s direction. Jisoo tries to scoot his chair away, but Jeonghan catches Jisoo’s hair with an ankle. Frowning, Jisoo pushes the offending plate back with his elbow and opts for a piece of kimbap instead.

“Don’t waste food, come on,” Seungcheol chides them with a slight laugh.

“In that case, why don’t you have it?” Jeonghan asks behind Jisoo’s mug.

Huffing, Jisoo reaches out to snatch the cup. It’s still half-full, so he stays silent as he takes long gulps.

“He’ll go full dad mode if you don’t just eat it,” Chan sighs.

Jisoo hums and it vibrates against the cup. With his free hand, he scoops up a few bean sprouts with his chopsticks and taps them against Jeonghan’s scowling teeth. Surprised, Jeonghan opens his jaw, allowing Jisoo to drop the sad vegetables into his mouth.

Jeonghan’s indignance is a crash of steel in Jisoo’s head, but all Jisoo can do is laugh. Giggles continue to vibrate through his throat as Jeonghan makes his retaliation, preying upon Jisoo, defenseless with his chopsticks in one hand and his mug in the other, and shoving as many vegetables into his mouth as possible. They engage each other in a chopsticks sword fight as Seokmin and Soonyoung take sides and cheer them on. Hansol and Chan make bets while Wonwoo finishes up in a hurry, Jihoon right behind him.

“And you thought this was better than Seungcheollie-hyung’s dad mode?” Seungkwan says to their maknae with a sigh.

Chan puts his hands up. “Hey, I was pretty sure that I was the youngest until this all started.”

 

* * *

 

Spitting out hair, Jeonghan pushes wind-swept locks out of his face and behind his ear. It’s not particularly windy at the park he occupies, leaning over the barrier protecting him from the modest river below, but it doesn’t help that his head is bowed.

As people pass by him, he picks up varying levels of fatigue, but nothing worth fussing over. By now, he thinks he’s much too used to being in his members’ company, to the point where his aura has trouble adjusting to people outside of their thirteen.

Honestly, he considers it a godsend. He may not be an empath, but he assumes this must be approaching their open aura, and even at this rate he thinks it’s a lot of work.

It’s why he’s out here on his own. Twelve other people is a lot to deal with on a regular basis: they take breaks during the day to make sure they quell any sprouting urges to kill each other. It works as a complement to their daily meetings in the evenings.

He’s busy tracking down a leaf’s path down the river when a familiar presence catches his attention. It starts small and slow, a gentle patch of colour on the edge of his mind. As it comes closer, the colour blooms like drops of ink in water. They swirl together in a bright and voluminous concoction until every corner and crevice of his mind is filled with a wide spectrum of colour.

Only one person can affect him so thoroughly.

Jeonghan glances over his shoulder and finds Jisoo coming down the path. Jisoo has his hands in his pockets as he walks at a brisk pace. It seems as if he has some destination beyond the park they’re currently occupying, but when their eyes meet, his feet begin to slow.

Even now, Jeonghan can’t find the words to describe how he feels around Jisoo—on a physical level. Well, no, not even physical, since auras aren’t tangible for the most part. Anything past their uncommon connection is uncharted territory he doesn’t want to risk touching just yet. And maybe leaving it unattended is a risk on its own, but Jeonghan would rather take that risk than take the other option.

Jeonghan turns to lean his back against the balustrade, catching Jisoo’s eyes with ease. They exchange easy smiles.

They can’t escape each other even during their alone time, but Jeonghan doesn’t mind.

Jisoo’s elbow knocks against Jeonghan’s as he comes to a stop by Jeonghan’s side. Grinning, he holds up a white plastic bag and shakes it.

“Took a trip to the convenience store and got some chocolate,” he chimes. “Want some?”

“And get between you and your chocolate? I think not,” Jeonghan snorts in reply.

Jisoo pouts, though the expression melts off in a second. Shrugging, he digs into the bag and produces a chocolate bar.

“Suit yourself,” Jisoo says as he tears open the packaging.

Being around twelve other boys who are constantly working on something, be it dance or vocals or the latest anime, pulls on Jeonghan’s energy a lot. These daily breaks usually allow him an opportunity to recharge, even just slightly, but having Jisoo with him at that moment… seems to be having an even greater effect. Thankfully, it’s a positive one.

At first, their unique connection had been a gamble: Jisoo either drained a proportionately larger amount of Jeonghan’s energy, or he helped Jeonghan regain some energy. But as of late, he’s been more consistent, lending energy more often than not.

Jeonghan eyes the chocolate in Jisoo’s hand. Something sweet lingers in the back of his mouth—though, if he’s honest, that could be a side-effect of being around Jisoo at all.

If Jeonghan had to describe his energy transfer, he’d compare it to getting hungry, or getting cold. In more specific terms, he could compare it to feeling his warmth leak out of him in fat droplets, making his eyelids and limbs heavy with fatigue. It’s never enough to get him to collapse, but it isn’t exactly complementary to any hopes of an active lifestyle.

Having it _returned_ to him, on the other hand… It’s strange, but not unpleasant. It’s warm, to say the least. Kind of like drinking a double latte, minus the upset stomach.

As he chews, Jisoo stares absently at the river beyond Jeonghan’s shoulders. He seems content to stand and eat silently—though the stiffness of his brow hints that there’s something going through his head. While he’s never explicitly said he has a power, Jeonghan _knows_ he has one, has to have one. Things wouldn’t make sense otherwise. Only some sort of supernatural ability can explain the constant shadows Jisoo leaves behind on Jeonghan’s skin, the constant whispers along the shells of his ears, the ghost of a touch on his lips.

When Jisoo finishes up his snack, he licks the melted chocolate off the inside of the wrapper before crumpling it up and shoving it into his pocket. Jeonghan lifts an eyebrow and Jisoo smiles widely in return.

“You’re gross,” Jeonghan tells him.

Jisoo’s smile widens. Jeonghan’s fingertips tingle.

“I’m enjoying myself,” Jisoo replies. He lifts a hand and licks the side of his thumb, his eyes returning to the water.

Jeonghan licks his lips and tastes sugar.

“If you say so.”

 

* * *

 

Jisoo’s gentle strumming vibrates through his corner of the room. Various conversations take place around him, providing an upbeat backdrop to his mindless playing.

Jisoo can identify each of his members with their own unique melody. This song of theirs plays at all times in their respective heads, but with varying elements thrown in according to their current mood. Right now, everything around him combines into a mellow symphony, slow and smooth and soft.

“Channie,” Jeonghan coos at the maknae, “whose baby are you?”

“Really?” Chan sighs. He balances his elbows on his knees, looking up at Jeonghan with an unimpressed expression. “There aren’t even any cameras nearby.”

“I know,” Jeonghan chimes. “But since you’re here, you have to entertain me. So: whose baby are you?”

Rolling his eyes, Chan stands and crosses the room. He finds a seat next to Jisoo, knocking shoulders with him. Although Chan’s expression certainly conveys irritation, he’s slightly amused. His thoughts of Jeonghan are soft with affection—sweet cotton candy.

Jeonghan trails after Chan with languid steps. His eyes gloss over Jisoo as he crouches on the floor next to Chan.

“Channie,” he whines, nudging at Chan’s knee, “you didn’t answer me.”

Chan turns to look at Jisoo. “So, what are you playing?”

Jisoo’s hand stills on the neck of his guitar, a small smile curving his lips. “Nothing in particular,” he replies.

Jisoo can feel Jeonghan’s thoughts approach his like tendrils of hot vapour. Jisoo shifts in his seat and brushes his guitar strings with calloused fingers.

“Chan-nie,” Jeonghan whines again. He moves to sit between Jisoo and Chan, squeezing his ass onto the edges of both their chairs. “Chan,” he repeats, “who do you like better, me or Jisoo-ya?”

“Jisoo-hyung,” Chan replies without missing a beat. He pokes Jeonghan’s side. “You’re being so needy tonight.”

Throwing his head back, Jeonghan lunges for Chan’s waist. “Of course I am! You’re all I have, Channie! My one and only! My baby boy!”

“Oh my god,” Chan mumbles on an exhale, his breath knocked out of him from Jeonghan’s sudden movement. “You’re too much, you know that?”

Jeonghan’s too busy burying his face into Chan’s neck to reply.

Wearing a wry smile, Jisoo maneuvers his guitar to prod Jeonghan’s side with the head of the instrument. “Jeonghan-ah, don’t you think you’re being a bit cruel to our maknae?”

“That’s one way to put it,” Chan sighs.

“ _I’m_ the one being cruel?” Jeonghan lifts his head to shoot Jisoo a miserable look. It’s exhausting just to look at him. “He picked you over me just to spite me. He’s playing with my heart, Jisoo-ya. And it hurts, it really does.”

Jisoo rolls his eyes and shoves Jeonghan off his chair. However, all this serves to do is pull Chan to the floor with him.

“Get off me!” Chan whines. It shouldn’t be difficult for him to pry Jeonghan’s hands off his body, but his aura sticks to Jeonghan’s, keeping them close together.

Chan’s aura can be very repellent or very attractive, something like a magnet. Usually he tries to manipulate it to perform tricks during choreo with Minghao, but it doesn’t always listen to him.

Jeonghan laughs, clear and bright and warm like wind chimes on a spring day. “You love me,” Jeonghan coos. “Look at you. Can’t let go of me, can you?”

Whining, Chan presses his forehead against Jeonghan’s shoulder. “Why this? Why now?”

“It’s fate,” Jeonghan laughs.

Jeonghan sure loves that word, Jisoo thinks to himself with a smile. Their laughter plays on his heart like his fingers play across his guitar strings, intertwining their melodies. Each of their members complement each other, and Jisoo would love, more than anything, to showcase just how well they fit together.

A few leftover chuckles tumble out of Jeonghan’s mouth as he rolls out of Chan’s grip. “Go to bed, kiddo,” he tells him, reaching out to pat Chan’s head.

Sighing, Chan lets the contact happen.

“Yes, mom,” Chan mutters. He extends an arm to flick Jeonghan’s head, but Jeonghan takes it as another opportunity to pull him in for a hug. With a shout, Chan wiggles in Jeonghan’s grip, but they end up laughing again in a tangled mess.

Jeonghan taps Chan’s butt with his foot as Chan stands up.

“Go away,” Chan calls over his shoulder, heading towards the door.

“Goodnight!” Jeonghan replies.

Jisoo stretches his legs to settle his toes against Jeonghan’s hip. The remnants of Jeonghan’s earlier grin stretch his features, framed with dark hair that brushes his cheeks. Jisoo’s fingers itch to push the stray hair behind Jeonghan’s ear.

“You gonna entertain me now that my baby’s gone?” Jeonghan asks. His words float on the wisps of his previous laughter, his voice quiet and intimate now that they’re the only two left in the room.

Jisoo swallows around a lump in his throat. He drops his gaze to his guitar, drawing his feet back to his chair.

“Dunno,” Jisoo says, “I think I’m gonna work on this a bit longer.”

“And what is ‘this’, exactly?”

Jeonghan props his head onto a hand, lifting his eyes to Jisoo in an expectant expression.

“A song,” Jisoo replies simply.

“You’re boring,” Jeonghan sighs. He moves his weight to Chan’s abandoned chair, leaning over to rest his chin on Jisoo’s shoulder. Once he’s settled, he speaks again, his chin moving minutely against Jisoo’s body. “You’re not gonna tell me about the song?” he asks.

“There’s not much to say.” Finding words to describe it would be one issue, and finding the courage to _say_ those words would be something else entirely.

This close, it feels as if Jeonghan shares his brain space. Proximity tends to be a major factor in limiting Jisoo’s power, but then again, Jeonghan is a bit of an anomaly when it comes to anything involving Jisoo’s ability.

Jeonghan’s head is heavy with fatigue, filled with dense fog that curls at his feet. The cold weight contrasts the warmth of Jeonghan’s breath on his neck, the soft curl of his eyelashes, the silk curtain of hair around his head. Jisoo can’t sort out the sensations, fighting to find a focal point, struggling to decide which is the lesser of two evils: fussing over Jeonghan’s tired state, or relishing the warmth of his presence.

Jisoo’s hands still on his guitar as he shifts his hips to face Jeonghan. The movement jostles Jeonghan’s head, and he looks up to send Jisoo a questioning look.

The sudden silence is stifling. Up until that moment, Jisoo had been playing the entire time, filling the room with constant, pleasant sound. Now that his hands have come to rest, it seems as if the walls have shrunk and boxed them in. Everything is too loud, too sharp, too close.

All Jisoo wanted to do was push Jeonghan’s hair out of his face, but he’s losing confidence with each second Jeonghan sits there staring at him.

Jeonghan’s eyes move to Jisoo’s hands, who have started to shake just slightly against the guitar. Worry blooms in Jeonghan’s head—fluffy white dandelions, weeds nonetheless. Soft soft soft, despite the weight of concern.

Jisoo turns and lifts the guitar out of his lap. He pushes Jeonghan’s thoughts out of his head, and the quiet is cold, biting cold.

“It’s time for bed,” Jisoo says, his eyes trained on his guitar, “isn’t it?”

Jeonghan puts a hand on Jisoo’s thigh. The touch is pure heat that softens Jisoo’s icy apprehension, causing him to drip messily at the edges.

“Let’s go,” is all Jeonghan says, wearing a small smile.

Jisoo stands, one hand occupied with his guitar and the other clasped in Jeonghan’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, you can see me at my twitter @ shujeongs if you want to see anything about updates!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's the chapter that garnered the mature rating.

Something hot settles in the basin of his pelvis and Jisoo wakes up with a start.

He doesn’t have to think twice to know it’s Jeonghan. It’s always Jeonghan lately. It’s always Jeonghan waking him up, always Jeonghan’s melody in his head, always Jeonghan’s eyes on the back of his neck, constant, without fail.

Some part of Jisoo thinks he should mind, but he can’t be bothered. Jeonghan’s starting to feel like a second skin at this rate, something like a security blanket, something that provides him solace and an endless supply of warmth. Jeonghan’s exhales fill Jisoo’s lungs, his words linger on Jisoo’s tongue, his smiles ghost over Jisoo’s lips. There is always a suggestion of Jeonghan on his body whether the man is actually there or not.

It should worry him. But it doesn’t.

The fact that the searing heat in his body is Jeonghan isn’t the problem here. Right now, at the crack of dawn, as the world begins to colour with the sun’s yellow rays against the canvas of the blue sky, the problem is that Jisoo isn’t alone.

Jeonghan’s in a different room doing—something. If Jisoo concentrates, he can feel fingers on his cock, urgent, frustrated, impatient. But Jisoo is in here, with his other members fast asleep around him, and if he were to dare disturb that arrangement, it could go very, very badly.

There’s another flash of heat and Jisoo bites his lip to keep quiet. Despite the distance between them, Jeonghan’s aura seems to be pulling on Jisoo’s, weaving them together on a shaky lattice. It’s not voluntary—Jisoo can feel no intent on Jeonghan’s part. From what he can gather, it’s only a matter of timing and hormones. Jisoo’s participation is a consequence of their tangled auras.

This can’t happen here. Part of Jisoo wants to find Jeonghan and—finishing that thought is difficult. He wants to end this. But that could involve a confrontation he doesn’t want to have just yet.

There’s just so much  _ heat _ , but throwing off his blanket might be too revealing. He rolls around in his bed, pressing his hips to his mattress and trying hard not to buck. Images of Jeonghan, his hair damp with sweat pressed to his face, flash through Jisoo’s head. A stuttering film of several angles and images plays on the backs of his eyelids. There’s a shot of Jeonghan’s fingers wrapped tight around his erection, then a shot of his eyes screwed shut, his mouth open to allow his breath to escape, then a shot of his legs quivering and splayed open.

Jisoo spares a quick second to realize Jeonghan’s in the bathroom and that he could probably join him if he runs.

The constantly shifting perspectives of Jeonghan’s body are starting to make him dizzy. His lack of breath isn’t helping. As Jeonghan comes closer and closer to his peak, Jisoo finds it harder and harder to keep quiet. At this point, escape looks like the only option.

He blinks his eyes open as he shoots upright. With a quick glance around the room, he confirms that his members are still asleep, allowing him to slip out of the room without much trouble.

A few steps down is their shared bathroom. Jisoo stares at the closed door for what feels like an eternity. The intimation of a hand—Jeonghan’s hand—on his body feels all too real for a moment, something concrete rather than the constant ghost haunting his head, and Jisoo can only think of running away.

He darts over to the kitchen and ducks behind a counter. The cupboard handles against his back are unyielding, but so is Jeonghan’s grip on his cock. It takes him a few tries to tug his sleeve over his hand before he shoves it in his mouth to keep from crying out.

There’s nothing new about trying to get rid of morning wood, but Jisoo blames the combined sensations from their two bodies for manifesting something so intense. There’s no way Jeonghan could ignore him now—then again, Jisoo’s the mind-reader here. He’s forgetting. It’s hard to focus, not with the slide of Jeonghan’s fingers on his—no, not  _ his _ , but  _ his _ —and then—and then there’s the heat in his belly, the sweat sliding down his neck, the stuttering puffs of breath—

Jisoo shudders, moaning against the damp cloth in his mouth. His toes curl as Jeonghan’s breath catches in his throat and his climax rolls through him. Jisoo isn’t far behind. It’s hard to tell, really, if he comes after or at the same time or maybe even before, but he’s soon distracted by the mess in his pants.

His chest is heaving as he fishes his wet sleeve out of his mouth. Sweat continues to drip down his back as he pulls the sleeve further down his arm to avoid touching the gross part.

He’s a mess, but he can’t imagine Jeonghan’s much better. In the quiet of the early morning, he can hear the water in the bathroom turning on, even from his position in the kitchen.

Jisoo sighs. He could really go for a shower now, but considering that he’s put off seeing Jeonghan for this long, it wouldn’t be a good idea to see him now.

He probes for Jeonghan’s mind. Jisoo’s legs are folded at the knee in front of him, and he’s sure that the cupboard handles have left permanent indents in his back. The tile of the kitchen floor is cold under his bare feet, but the warmth in his stomach is only starting to fade now.

Jeonghan is a collection of quiet noise. He’s the drizzle of water hitting the shower floor. He’s the whistle of a kettle starting to boil. He’s the pad of feet across wood. He’s many things at once, too many thoughts to digest at once, hazy with morning weariness and post-orgasm fatigue. Jisoo’s name lingers on the back of his head and that comforts Jisoo in the pit of his too-warm stomach.

As he waits for the sound of the shower to turn off, he can feel the mess in his pants get worse. He stretches his legs out in front of him with a muted groan. It’s not entirely negative, somehow: Jisoo’s head occupies itself with plans to clean up instead of… whatever the hell just happened.

It’s fine. He can deal with it later, when things are not in disarray.

Not that he imagines things will get much better from here, but he can hope.

 

* * *

 

Jisoo hears Seungcheol before he sees him.

In the shower, Jisoo had avoided thinking about anything in particular. He focused on cleaning up, on the soapy foam on his arms, chest, down his stomach—

He tried. Really, he did.

It’s moments like these that he thanks God for his ability. The racket of eleven other boys waking up cleared out whatever attempt at coherent thought his brain had tried to piece together, leaving him with blissful nothingness.

Seungcheol’s approach had been like a sudden gust of wind. It made him shiver in his towel. As he comes closer and closer to the bathroom, Jisoo hurries to put on his clothes and hopefully hide the vague not-quite-shame that he’s sure is written in his face—and if not his face, then maybe in his posture. He’s never been particularly good at lying.

Jisoo runs a hand over his face before slipping out of the washroom. His goal is to put away his dirty clothes while avoiding a confrontation.

He manages the first part, but as he turns to leave the bedroom, Seungcheol is there, closing the door behind him. No one else is around to interrupt them.

Seungcheol’s thoughts are warm. Maybe it’s an attempt to disarm him. If there’s anyone in the group who might know about Jisoo’s power, it’s Seungcheol. Being the oldest, he has the most experience with these things. That, plus the nature of his own power, makes for a very knowledgeable and intuitive person.

Their powers probably clash the most, too, since Jisoo is privy to a bit of the extra things Seungcheol picks up. There’s always a lot going on in his head, and Jisoo can’t even begin to figure out whatever the hell he’s thinking. Seungcheol has said before that he can’t perceive empaths’ powers, so Jisoo assumes he can’t perceive Jisoo’s, either.

But there’s always this air about Seungcheol like he just  _ knows _ things.

Seungcheol is thinking of something in particular as he casts a quick glance down the length of Jisoo’s body. Jisoo suppresses a shudder under the scrutiny.

Of course, Jisoo’s first guess is the incident that happened earlier that morning, but how Seungcheol knows about that escapes him. Maybe it shows somewhere beyond his physical appearance.

He presses forward with his power and tries to dig through the cacophony of Seungcheol’s busy, busy thoughts. There’s a hint of each member caught in the folds of his mind—the peal of Chan’s distinctive laugh; the crow’s feet around Seokmin’s eyes as he smiles; the lilt of Minghao’s accented Korean; the weight of Junhui’s practiced, charismatic stare; just to name a few—but what sticks out the most is Jeonghan.

Of course.

From what Jisoo can tell, there had been a certain scent that lingered on Jeonghan even after he showered. That and the tension between his shoulders had been enough to clue Seungcheol in on something he wasn’t meant to know.

Seungcheol’s eyes are bright, reflecting the morning sunlight coming in through the windows. He smiles.

“I passed by Jeonghan on the way here,” Seungcheol starts, aiming for conversational. Jisoo tries not to lock up immediately. “He looked happy.”

The corners of Jisoo’s mouth twitch. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I didn’t get a chance to talk with him for long—” and by that, Jisoo figures he means that Jeonghan slipped away before they discussed anything too heavy— “but I’m glad I managed to find you, too.”

“Why’s that?”

Seungcheol’s eyebrow twitches.  _ Don’t play dumb with me _ , is what Jisoo understands from that single movement.

The expression passes and Seungcheol replaces it with a wide smile. “To congratulate you, of course!”

“Congratulate me?” Jisoo’s brow furrows.

“You and Jeonghan,” Seungcheol adds, as if that’s supposed to clarify anything.

Jisoo can’t think of anything to say. He doesn’t even know where to start. He hasn’t said anything to Jeonghan about this at all and now Seungcheol wants to talk?

“I know you two have been dancing around each other for a while now,” Seungcheol continues. The questions in Jisoo’s head start to multiply. “And I’m glad to see that you’ve finally made a move. Well, not you in particular—I guess I don’t really know about the details any more than what I can tell, and to be honest, I don’t really want to, but—I’m glad. That’s all.”

Jisoo holds Seungcheol’s gaze for a few moments. As time passes, Jisoo can hear Seungcheol’s thoughts take on a confused tone.

“I mean,” Seungcheol continues, trying to digest Jisoo’s silence, “I’m mostly glad that you decided to do it quietly, but, you know. I know you like each other a lot, and I’m happy for you.”

“Seungcheol…” The name is strained coming out of Jisoo’s mouth. He still isn’t sure where he should start. “I think… I think you might have the wrong idea about all this.”

Seungcheol allows the furrow in his brow to form. His confusion beats out the other things fighting for attention in his head.

“What do you mean?” Seungcheol moves his hands, about to make an obscene gesture, but he thinks better of it and crosses his arms instead. “It wasn’t hard to put two and two together. Early shower, that special sort of look on your face—not to mention the, uh…” He smiles sheepishly. “Well. Not a lot escapes this nose, that’s all I gotta say.”

Jisoo really doesn’t want to know.

“It’s complicated,” he says instead. He rubs his arm and casts his gaze to the ground. “In fact, I haven’t really had a chance to talk to Jeonghan about it—at all.”

Silence falls between them as Seungcheol tries to wrap his head around Jisoo’s words. Seungcheol leans back against the door, chewing the inside of his cheek.

Jisoo can only pick up bits and pieces from the inside of his leader’s head. There are hints of frustration like the echoes of banging pots and pans, loud and unforgiving, but softened with Seungcheol’s endless patience. As the silence stretches on, Jisoo affords himself an extra boost of energy to pin down a certain thought looping the confines of Seungcheol’s head.

_ Why am I always the middleman _ ?

Seungcheol looks up at him then, all hard eyes but soft around the mouth.

“You guys sure hate talking about stuff, huh,” Seungcheol mutters, mostly to himself.

Talking about it makes it real, Jisoo thinks. There’s nothing to talk about, he wants to say, but he doesn’t need to think twice to know that’s a lie.

“It’s—it’s complicated,” Jisoo replies, a pitiful broken record.

“It can’t be as bad as you think it is,” Seungcheol offers softly. The softness of his words reminds Jisoo of cotton and he’s thinking of Jeonghan again, always Jeonghan.

“It’s—it’s just… weird.”

Seungcheol heaves a long suffering sigh. “Where have I heard that before?”

Seungcheol’s head parrots Jeonghan saying the exact same thing. It’s almost enough to bring a smile to Jisoo’s face.

Sure, they’re being unreasonable about it, but they’re allowed a few mistakes, aren’t they? Jisoo firmly believes in going at one’s own pace, and it definitely counts when he’s talking about his own problems.

With another sigh, Seungcheol runs a hand through his hair. “Well,” he starts, “I guess I really did have the wrong idea about everything. I guess it shouldn’t surprise me.”

Hearing the Seungcheol’s quiet, resigned tone of voice is reminiscent of hearing a parent say “I’m not  _ angry _ , just  _ disappointed _ ,” and it would rub Jisoo the wrong way if it weren’t for the fact that Seungcheol acts more or less like the group’s father.

It doesn’t help that Jeonghan is commonly referred to as the mother, but that’s an entirely different issue.

“It’s really none of my business, though.” Seungcheol lifts his head and aims a smile Jisoo’s way. Somehow, it still comes across as fully genuine. “But, you know… You might want to get on that soon.”

Jisoo rubs a hand along the length of his forearm. “Yeah.”

Seungcheol opens his mouth to say something, but he thinks better of it. Curiosity lingers on the edge of his mind, mingling with his confusion about Jisoo’s half-truths, but in the end, he just shakes his head.

“As long as you keep it to yourselves, there shouldn’t be any problems,” Seungcheol comments. His hand is on the doorknob. “Just—don’t force me to do get involved, okay?”

As Jisoo takes a breath to reply, Seungcheol turns the knob and takes a step outside. They exchange glances and Jisoo deflates, allowing his leader to leave without another word.

Once Seungcheol’s back disappears down the hallway, Jeonghan comes into view: his hair comes first, the rest of his body following closely. The air around Jisoo’s head thickens, endless cotton tickling his ears, as Jeonghan lifts his head and meets his eye.

Jeonghan freezes. It’s not long before a flush blossoms in his cheeks, bright and red. When Jisoo thinks of something else that’d been flushed, he blushes too, eyes widening.

He’s caught in a trap of unsaid words and Jeonghan’s hot and harsh gaze. Both his and Jeonghan’s thoughts clash in a cascade through their heads, an impenetrable storm of uncertainty and warmth and longing.

Jisoo licks his lips and Jeonghan looks away. He continues down the hall without another word.


	5. Chapter 5

This is not the most ideal way for Jeonghan to see Jisoo in bed.

He’s not sure how this all started. They’d been practicing choreo together—nothing new—when suddenly, Jisoo had collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath. While this on its own is concerning enough, the stress Jisoo experienced had leaked through to Jeonghan and knocked the air right out of him. With both of them flailing on the ground like that, it didn’t take long for Seungcheol to call the staff.

And now here they are, side by side on matching beds. Cute, right?

Jeonghan had woken up first, leading him to this current moment, his eyelashes low against his cheekbones as he observes Jisoo’s sleeping form. He can feel his energy leaving his aura to compensate for whatever the hell just happened.

There’s something funny happening with his head, and Jeonghan can’t quite put his finger on it. It feels as if he’s starting to hear things he shouldn’t—whispers not quite physical, not quite there, not quite tangible, suggestions and implications and airless breaths.

Some part of him thinks he should be worried, but at the same time, he can feel his body adjusting to this heightened level of perception. It’s slow, a series of continuous growing pains, but it doesn’t alarm him.

It’s probably because he’d been feeling like this for a while now. Jisoo just… inspires this in him, he supposes—some addition to the ability he’s had since he can remember. Mindless things capture his attention from time to time, little things like Soonyoung’s feet against the wooden floors, like Mingyu sneezing into the open air, like Wonwoo flipping to the next page in his book. It’s intuition, he supposes, guesses as to what could be running through their heads.

The whispers grow in volume as Jisoo opens his eyes. The energy flow from Jeonghan to Jisoo moves and focuses on the latter’s head, pulling Jeonghan’s attention to Jisoo’s thoughts. They’re scattered, though Jeonghan’s restorative ability seems to be facilitating the recollection process. He can feel Jisoo’s awareness returning to him, weight picked up and settled upon his shoulders.

Jeonghan’s name echoes and bounces against the walls of Jeonghan’s skull—the part that surprises him is that it’s said by Jisoo’s voice.

Jisoo looks up at him with bleary eyes.  _ Jeonghan _ , he repeats, soft as velvet and wrapped in thin layers of silk. His gaze is syrupy sweet and the curve of his lips fills Jeonghan with warm vapour.

_ Jisoo? _ he thinks back.

Hearing his name carves a full smile onto Jisoo’s mouth. Jeonghan can’t help but smile back.

“Are you okay…?” Jeonghan asks.

Jisoo’s eyes fall as he looks at a wrinkle in the sheets. His reluctance to admit to his discomfort—his head feels frayed at the edges, raw—weighs heavily in the pit of Jeonghan’s stomach. He can’t fault Jisoo for it, though, not at all.

“Not sure,” Jisoo says after a few breaths. He looks up again and the concern in his gaze pulls at Jeonghan’s throat. The ache is shared between them and Jisoo frowns.

Jeonghan tries to think of something soothing. He settles on chocolate, that ought to please Jisoo. In turn, Jisoo licks his lips as his brow furrows.

“Jeonghan…” Jisoo stares at his companion for a few breaths. With both of them here with nothing else to do but recover, Jeonghan feels no need to rush Jisoo.

They’re having their chance to talk. Seungcheol should be happy with that, at least.

Jisoo puts a hand on his chest and lowers his head. Jeonghan feels content to sit back and watch him work through it. Stray thoughts fly like bullets in the confines of his head and Jeonghan sweats a little, unsure of his chances.

Still. There’s no point in being pessimistic right now. Guess old habits just die hard.

When Jisoo reaches across their beds to take Jeonghan’s hand, Jeonghan moves to meet him halfway.

Jisoo hums. “That’s…”

_ That helps _ , Jisoo thinks. He lifts his chin and meets Jeonghan’s eyes. Although Jisoo’s thoughts are a fog of several simultaneous sensations at once, he substitutes physical words for straight-shot dialogue in their interwoven heads, and Jeonghan can get that, at least.

Jeonghan taps the back of Jisoo’s hands with the pads of his fingers.

_ That’s good. I think. _ Jeonghan tilts his head.  _ So. I guess we have to talk about this now, huh? _

_ I wouldn’t classify this as talking. _

_ Wow. Thanks for that contribution. _ Jeonghan rolls his eyes.  _ Gotta admit, though. This? It’s a little weird. _

“Sorry,” Jisoo says aloud. “It’s just—”  _ A little easier. _

It’s certainly faster than waiting for Jisoo’s lips to move and produce sound that vibrates in the air around them.

_ Though it looks like we’ll have no choice but to be honest like this _ , Jeonghan points out.

Jisoo nods _. Yeah. But I guess we should probably stop dancing around each other now. _

_ Not if we want to avoid this shit in the future, right? _ Jeonghan gestures vaguely with his hands.  _ Should we start from there? With the whole passing out thing? _

Reminding Jisoo of the incident digs up echoes of pain. The centre of attention is Jisoo’s head, and in tandem, Jeonghan’s as well. The discomfort reminds him of a hangover.

“It doesn’t happen often,” Jisoo explains. “And honestly, I thought I’d be used to it by now.”

“Used to what?”

_ To this _ , Jisoo replies.

“Telepathy?” Jeonghan pauses to whistle. “Kinda seems like a new development to me.”

Again, Jisoo shakes his head. “I wouldn’t… call it telepathy. I can’t directly communicate with someone’s thoughts.”

_ So what the hell is this then?  _ Jeonghan asks.

_ This—this is new, _ Jisoo admits.  _ I don’t know about this. But earlier—leading up to this—it was just an overload, of sorts. _

_ So that’s what you meant when you said you should be used to this. _

_ Yeah. _ Jisoo sighs. He lifts his free hand to card through his peach hair. “It’s been years since we started training together. I’ve never had it so bad that I couldn’t physically take it anymore.”

“So now what?” Jeonghan’s grip tightens involuntarily. “Should we… I don’t know—” his voice comes out as a frustrated growl, and Jisoo can’t decide if he’s pleased with that display of concern or not. “—figure out a way to—to fix it?”

Jisoo chews on that for a second.  _ I don’t know. I don’t really know if there’s anything I  _ can _ do. _

“We could talk to Seokmin about it?” Jeonghan suggests. “He might have an idea, being an empath and all.”

Humming, Jisoo nods. “That’s not a bad idea,” he replies.

_ But not now, _ Jeonghan adds,  _ I’m still too tired to get up. _

_ Lazy Jeonghannie, _ is Jisoo’s immediate thought. Frowning, he shakes his head.  _ No, no… That’s not it, is it? _

_ I don’t know, is it? _

Now it’s Jisoo’s turn to roll his eyes.  _ You have a power. _

_ So do you, _ Jeonghan fires back immediately.  _ So I wasn’t the only one hiding something. _

Jisoo frowns.  _ I wasn’t accusing you of anything. _

Jeonghan rubs the back of Jisoo’s hand with his thumb.  _ Yeah, _ he replies hesitantly.  _ Sorry. _

_ It’s okay. _ Jisoo’s head blooms with bright flowers sown by Jeonghan’s gentle touch, and he offers Jeonghan a small smile.

_ Still, _ Jisoo continues,  _ I don’t know exactly what it is you do. _

Jeonghan shrugs.  _ I lend people energy. That’s it. If someone’s tired, I tend to follow them around and balance out that lack of energy with my own. All give and no take, you know. I was engineered to be selfless. _

Jisoo rolls his eyes and Jeonghan jerks forward.

“Careful there, Jisoo-ya,” Jeonghan says, “I was scared your eyes were gonna fall out for a second there.”

Jisoo can’t help the laugh that bubbles through his throat. He beats a playful fist against Jeonghan’s shoulder.

“Screw you,” he says around a laugh.

_ Now that’s an idea, _ Jeonghan replies with contemplative slowness.

Both of them recall that early morning incident from a while ago. It’s not long until they’re wearing matching blushes—but with this newly forged link between them, trying to hide from reality is hardly an option.

_ I felt that so strongly, _ Jisoo remembers,  _ it felt like—like you were touching me… _

Jeonghan nods and looks away, as if the admission suddenly makes things too real to handle.

_ I could feel the effect I had on you. I was thinking of you the entire time. _ Jeonghan’s face flushes darker.  _ Ugh. How do you turn this off? _

With a gentle smile, Jisoo replies,  _ It takes practice, I’m sorry. You wouldn’t believe how bratty I was as a kid. Everything was so noisy all the time. It still is, but I can handle it now. _

Jeonghan sighs. He crosses the small space between their beds to loop his arms around Jisoo’s middle and tuck his head in the crook of Jisoo’s shoulder.

_ You’re cute. It’s annoying, _ he thinks idly. It earns him a snort from Jisoo.

Jisoo settles his cheek against the top of Jeonghan’s head.  _ If it makes you feel any better, I think you’re cute, too. _

_ I don’t need you to tell me I’m cute _ , Jeonghan replies easily.  _ But it does make me feel better, I think. Though I feel even better to know you’re not weirded out by that morning thing. _

_ Everyone in the group gets that sometimes, Jeonghannie. _

_ That’s not what I mean at all, _ Jeonghan whines.  _ I didn’t mean to involve you. I didn’t even mean to think of you. But it just happened and I couldn’t stop. _

Jisoo chuckles.  _ It’s okay, don’t worry about it. Even if it wasn’t exactly practical when sharing a room. _

Jeonghan buries his face further into Jisoo’s collarbone.  _ I’m sorry. That’s not how I wanted to do this. _

That piques Jisoo’s interest. His thoughts buzz, a gentle yet persistent vibration in his head.

_ So how did you want to do this? _ he asks.

Jeonghan sighs, and his breath is warm and moist against Jisoo’s neck.  _ I don’t know _ , Jeonghan admits,  _ I don’t know. I hadn’t gotten there yet. _

_ But you wanted this—whatever this is. _

Discomfort rolls through their heads like an icy breeze. Hesitance. Fear.

_ Yeah, _ Jeonghan responds. He fiddles with his fingers, tangled together and tucked against Jisoo’s side.  _ I don’t know. _

It takes Jeonghan some effort to resist putting his feelings into concrete words. It’s too soon. There’s too much to think about, to take into consideration, if they pursue this line of thought.

_ Let’s just have this for now _ , he thinks.  _ I like this. _

Jisoo nods, rustling Jeonghan’s hair.

_ Yeah. Me too. _

 

* * *

 

When Jeonghan wakes up, Jisoo isn’t there.

Well, he is. Just not  _ in there _ . In his head. His head is how it usually is: a mess of other people’s auras caught in his, like an octopus with its tentacles tangled in his members’ business, like a bug with too many feelers constantly groping around to understand its surroundings. The not-there whispers from before are absent and he feels strangely alone.

Jeonghan sits up and stretches his neck. It cracks a few times as he works out the kinks from crowding around Jisoo’s space.

The movement rouses Jisoo. A stray hand slips out between their bodies and rubs at the sleep gathered in Jisoo’s eyes. Jisoo quickly returns it to their shared space to maintain its comfortable temperature.

As Jisoo wakes up, the rest of the world seems to wake up, too. Distantly, he can hear the quiet huffs of his members’ breath, scattered throughout their dorm doing god knows what. He’s hyperaware of their presence, as if Jisoo’s power has amplified his own.

Jeonghan rubs at his forehead before settling his weight against Jisoo’s shoulder again.

“I’m awake,” Jisoo mumbles. He shifts his body to accommodate Jeonghan, moving his arm so that it doesn’t fall asleep under Jeonghan’s weight. He opts for slinging it over Jeonghan’s shoulders, his hand falling limp against Jeonghan’s chest.

Jeonghan reaches up to play with Jisoo’s fingertips. He rubs at the callouses all along Jisoo’s hand.

“It’s okay if you want to rest more,” Jeonghan replies, his voice hoarse with sleep.

All Jisoo does is hum. It vibrates through his throat, his chest, and travels down Jeonghan’s spine before settling in his stomach.

“No,” Jisoo says eventually, “have to work.”

“Come on, there’s no point in pushing yourself and getting sick again.”

“Mmm.” Jisoo pulls on Jeonghan’s hand, lifting it so that he can lace their fingers together. “Won’t work too hard, then.”

Rolling his eyes, Jeonghan says, “No one’s forcing you to do anything, you know.”

“But I should,” is all Jisoo says in reply.

“No point in pushing yourself, I just said.”

“So I won’t,” Jisoo replies, short and simple.

Jeonghan sighs. “Fine. But don’t get mad if I say I told you so.”

“If it’s you, I don’t think I could get mad, Jeonghan-ah.” Jisoo squeezes Jeonghan’s hand before lifting his head from Jeonghan’s space.

There’s not much Jeonghan can say to that, so all he does is sit back and watch as Jisoo gets up. Jeonghan settles against the headboard, still feeling stiff in his joints, as Jisoo takes time to stretch. Once he finishes, he approaches Jeonghan with a smile.

“Let’s go?” he asks, extending a hand towards his companion.

Jeonghan looks down at the offer. He can’t help but smile back as he takes it.

“Guess so.”

Sure, their connection isn’t the same as it was earlier, but Jeonghan knows it’s  _ different _ now. Whatever had happened during that practice allowed Jeonghan a few moments to explore Jisoo’s headspace, and honestly, he’s thankful for the opportunity. Things aren’t exactly clearer, but he feels more certain, more confident, that Jisoo’s place in his chest isn’t a mistake, that none of this is wrong. Scary, yes, but he supposes sharing your heart with someone has its consequences.

If Jeonghan felt keyed into Jisoo’s actions before, he felt it now more than ever. The shifts in Jisoo’s thoughts aren’t as clear as they had been, not to the point where he can hear actual words, but Jeonghan picks them up nonetheless, like changes in the wind or fluctuations of temperature.

Jisoo squeezes Jeonghan’s hand as he leads him out of the room. A flutter of affection shakes his lungs for an instant before it melts into soothing honey over his heart, his ribs, pooling pleasantly in his stomach.

Yeah, Jeonghan can definitely get used to this.


	6. Chapter 6

Seungcheol had warned them not to go out. Jisoo had felt the humidity in the air, thick enough to slice through with his arms, but still, here they are, snacks in their grasp as they stare at the rain pouring from dark clouds in thick sheets.

“We should have brought an umbrella,” Jisoo sighs.

Beside him, Jeonghan shrugs. “We could wait it out,” he suggests.

Jisoo cranes his neck to stare up at the sky. The clouds are an angry grey, no sunshine in sight. “And how long do you think that’d take?”

“About as long as it’ll take for Seungcheol to tell us ‘told you so’.”

Jisoo snorts. “Real funny. But I was being serious.”

“So was I!”

With another sigh, Jisoo turns to dig an elbow into Jeonghan’s side. He giggles and writhes, pressing close against Jisoo’s side. Under the awning of the convenience store, there’s not much room for him to go anywhere else, but Jisoo is still very well aware of how close they are.

“The kids’ll be mad we skipped out on practice,” Jisoo adds.

Jeonghan rolls his eyes. “And?”

Again, Jisoo nudges Jeonghan’s ribs. “You could use more practice, you know.”

“You too.”

“I never said I didn’t.”

The sound of the falling rain squeezes into the minute space between them. Jisoo’s eyes are drawn to the way the water, spread over the pavement, bends for the cascading droplets, the way the pits in the surface sink and settle in the blink of an eye.

The overcast sky invites cold to surround him, but Jeonghan brings him warmth, endless warmth, and Jisoo thinks he can take the pounding rain if he’s with Jeonghan.

A smile pulls at Jeonghan’s mouth as if he can hear the sappy thoughts running through Jisoo’s head. Honestly, Jisoo wouldn’t be surprised at this point.

There’s a glint in Jeonghan’s eyes like he’s weighing a challenge over in his mind. Jisoo can hear it rolling around in his skull, a handful of marbles slipping from Jeonghan’s fingers, and he braces himself for whatever’s coming next.

Jeonghan makes a grab for Jisoo’s hand. Jisoo’s immediate reaction is to squeeze it.

“Let’s go for it,” Jeonghan says so simply, so easily.

The walk back is less than ten minutes, but they’ll still get drenched in that time alone.

Jisoo eyes the rain some more, his gaze unable to keep up with the speed of the water falling.

“Let’s go,” Jisoo agrees.

They make it past one block before they break down laughing.

The rain is a cold shock over Jisoo’s skin. It’s thorough, streaking through his hair and down the collar of his shirt, hugging his skin, stealing the heat from his flesh with ease. He doesn’t mind, though, not with the way his belly shakes with laughter, not with the way that Jeonghan’s gaze makes him shiver beyond the cold.

Water drips from Jeonghan’s eyelashes and falls down his cheeks. It curves with his [smile](http://66.media.tumblr.com/0f9a59768fd3e9c47979238e6afcd7f4/tumblr_obyxs3theT1vy7ta0o1_1280.png) before disappearing down the sharp edge of his jaw. Jisoo tries to track the water down the length of Jeonghan’s throat, but then he’s staring, lost, mesmerized.

Grinning, Jeonghan reaches out to wipe water from Jisoo’s forehead. He manages to push his hair away in a thick gesture, but Jisoo’s eyes remain obscured with the constant barrage of rain.

“You look like a wet cat,” Jeonghan laughs.

Jisoo grins back. He pushes his bag of snacks up his arm before reaching out to grab the front of Jeonghan’s shirt, pulling him closer, closer.

“You think I’m cute,” Jisoo replies, a statement, not a question.

Jeonghan thinks a lot of things about Jisoo. It’d take an eternity to pin them all down, to define them and solidify them. ‘Cute’ is an easy place to start.

“So what if I do?” Jeonghan asks. He breathes Jisoo’s air now, brought in close by the pull of Jisoo’s fingers, balancing his weight on the balls of his feet.

One of Jisoo’s hands rises to wipe water from Jeonghan’s bottom lip. It’s a futile gesture, doing nothing but spreading indistinguishable wetness across his skin, but Jisoo relishes the way Jeonghan’s mouth is smooth and slick with water, wonders what that slickness would feel against his own mouth.

Jisoo doesn’t have to _wonder_ , he realizes, and the thought brings a wide grin to his lips. Water slides down the heated expanse of his cheeks, wets his lips, and he licks them, anticipatory.

Jeonghan’s eyes are sharp as they trace the outline of Jisoo’s mouth. The predatory heat in his gaze, the hunger, the craving, gnaws at something in the pit of Jisoo’s pelvis; his grip tightens in Jeonghan’s shirt. The fabric is soaked and heavy in his fingers, and it clings to Jeonghan’s arms and stomach like a second skin. Jisoo can make out the subtle lines of his muscles through the barrier.

No more second thoughts now. No thinking.

But Jisoo wouldn’t be Jisoo if he didn’t _think_.

When their lips meet, they meet halfway. Jisoo’s nose brushes Jeonghan’s cheek and he’s drowning, drowning in the heavy rain, drowning in the heavy heat, drowning in the heavy weight of his affection. Emotion bubbles in his chest, threatening to burst at the seams, leaving his fingers tingling and his toes curling.

Jeonghan’s hands settle around Jisoo’s neck. His palms press pure heat to Jisoo’s skin, but Jisoo welcomes it, sighs his contentment through his nose.

Jeonghan’s lips are slick with rain, and the sounds they make as they slide against Jisoo’s are lost to the downpour. His heartbeat pounds in time with the rain cascading down his shoulders. In the flurry of rain and wind, Jisoo’s wrapped in layers of sensation, and in the centre of it all lies Jeonghan, Jeonghan, Jeonghan.

When Jeonghan pulls away, Jisoo chases after him. Their noses brush as Jeonghan grins down at him, pearly white and blinding.

 _I love you_ , Jisoo thinks.

Jeonghan’s hands card through Jisoo’s matted peach locks. Somehow, _somehow_ , he smiles brighter, wider, filled with fluffy white cotton and fields worth of flowers from ear to ear.

_I love you, too._

Jisoo feels it more than he hears it, though echoes of Jeonghan’s voice colour the edges of his mind. He feels the sentiment like hot coals burning through his body, starting from the tip of his tongue down to the depths of his guts. Happiness fills him to the brim—down to his rain-slicked cuticles, down to the water soaking through his soles, down to the bottom of his diaphragm.

Jisoo’s grip in Jeonghan’s shirt loosens as he flattens his palms against Jeonghan’s chest. He leans forward to press his face against the side of Jeonghan’s head, their cheeks flush together for a moment, his eyelashes battering endless rain from his eyes. Still smiling, Jeonghan turns his head just slightly, just enough to press the corner of his mouth against Jisoo’s cheek.

“I really do, you know,” Jeonghan says. Hiis voice is almost lost to the torrent around them, and yet it feels so immense in Jisoo’s ears.

Jisoo pulls away. He lifts both hands to sweep Jeonghan’s hair out of his face and behind his ears, though it doesn’t stay for long under the weight of the water. His fingers remain curled behind Jeonghan’s ears as they maintain eye contact.

Of course he knows. He’s always known, he thinks—somehow. But hearing it makes it real, makes it concrete, gives it shape and lines and shadows, something he can hold and cradle close to his heart.

Maybe it’s more precious that way. As if anything Jeonghan could give him could be anything less than precious.

“Yeah,” Jisoo breathes, and his words waver under the weight of the rain. “I really do, too.”

 _So much, so much, so much_.

Jeonghan kisses his cheek again, chaste and sweet. Jisoo turns his head to meet Jeonghan’s lips again, and again, and again, and again.

They skip down the street on the way back, shaking with laughter and the cold. Seungcheol gives them the evil eye as they stand outside the dorm door, pouring water out of their convenience store bags, stupid grins on their faces the whole time.

Once inside, Jeonghan shakes water out of his hair like a dog. Rolling his eyes, Jisoo reaches out and seizes Jeonghan’s arms to stop him, but it’s not long before he slides his hands up Jeonghan’s shoulders to cup his jaw.

“You’re an idiot,” Jisoo sighs.

Wearing a wide grin, Jeonghan lifts a hand to push some of Jisoo’s hair out of his face. A few stray drops of water begin to slide down his face, and Jeonghan leans forward to brush them all away with his lips.

“Yeah,” Jeonghan starts, his mouth by Jisoo’s ear, “but you love me.”

Jisoo’s cheeks heat up as he rolls his eyes again. He balances his elbows on Jeonghan’s shoulders, playing with the wet hair plastered against the back of Jeonghan’s neck.

“So what if I do?” Jisoo replies.

Distantly, Jisoo can hear a hushed gaggle of voices, both tangible and not, all of them heatedly discussing the scene unfolding by the door. Hansol yells “get a room!”, though the tail-end of his speech is muffled by what Jisoo can only assume is another member’s palm.

Jeonghan presses his forehead against Jisoo’s. The gesture alone is enough to coax heat from the pit of Jisoo’s stomach, a pleasant warmth that flutters restlessly in his lungs and in the back of his throat.

The cascade of thoughts crashing through Jeonghan’s head are indistinct and incoherent, but Jisoo doesn’t care to try and decipher them. He’s distracted by the softness that envelops him, the feather-light affection that blooms when their bodies meet. Jeonghan is endless cotton and Jisoo would happily drown.

“So,” Jeonghan murmurs, low and warm and voluminous in the infinitesimal space between them, “then it’s fine if I kiss you to let you know that I love you, too.”

 _You’re a sap_ , Jisoo thinks.

 _So are you_.

Jisoo leans down and kisses the grin on Jeonghan’s mouth, sealing their lips together. Someone down the hall cheers. Jisoo has a pretty good feeling it’s Seungkwan.

Some part of Jisoo thinks he should be embarrassed about kissing the man he loves in front of a crowd of people, but at this point, standing in the doorway in water-logged clothes with convenience store bags pooling at their feet, he can’t find a reason to care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and that's it! it was fun to expand on a universe i love to play with, though this definitely isn't the end of things. the rest of the members do have powers and i'm planning to write stuff with the rest of them. thanks for reading, and special thanks to everyone who commented and left kudos!


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